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“I tried to tell her that we should change the plans and return another time. She refused. Said this needed to be done. And I mean, when all things are considered, it did get done. Just… At a cost.”
Hera tsked.
“Yes, of her kidneys, and hands, and face.”
“For what it’s worth, I think she did it for you.”
Hera started, and whatever showed in her eyes must have frightened the muse, because Clio took a sudden step back, her breath coming out in a loud whoosh.
“I didn’t ask her to…” Hera trailed off, her heart beating heavy in her chest.
Damn that woman, Damn Zeus. Damn it all to Hell, let Hades take them all.
Around the corner of the kitchen, the small bear chorus intoned “Hades take them aalllllll!” to the tune of “All By Myself”. Hera set her hands palm down on the kitchen counter and closed her eyes. She needed air. And she couldn’t leave. Not with Nemesis—
“I’m okay.” The voice was hoarse, tired and broken. The face was bruised, drawn and belligerent. Clio perked up.
“Oh, great, you’re up. Well, I guess I’ll be going. These art pieces need to be delivered to Greece, and the plane is waiting for me. Hermes said he’d do the honors, but I have to escort the art.”
Hera tuned out the voice. All she could see were the blue eyes that were too shadowed to decipher the expression in them, and yet she wanted nothing but to find out what was behind them.
“Why did you do it?”
Clio disappeared from the kitchen, and Hera heard her usher the bears out with her. Which probably resembled herding cats, but if anyone could herd the felines and the bears, it would be the all-capable Muse of History. She ignored the singing and cajoling. Nemesis took a few more steps into the space, leaning against the counter opposite to Hera.
“We have a deal.”
“I asked you to come back unharmed. No deal is worth getting injured.” Hera grabbed the counter till her knuckles turned white.
“That’s not for you to judge.”
Nemesis shrugged, and Hera saw red.
“Do not patronize me! I waited for you! I couldn’t stand—”
“Were you worried about me, Your Majesty?”
Nemesis’s smile was sly. Hera took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Then she took another. Then she realized no matter how many breaths she took, nothing would quiet the anger, the ache in her chest. So she stepped around the counter and touched Nemesis’s chin, turning the battered face towards herself.
She slowly caressed the already deep purple bruise that ran along the sharp cheekbone, then raised on her tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on it, the skin slowly healing further under her ministrations. Nemesis blinked, and the ice-cold eyes turned watery just for a second. Hera’s fingertips touched the angular jaw line, the pain transferring, slowly, gently, lifting off the pale skin and into her fingertips. She kept a neutral expression. Nemesis watched her closely.
“You need to lie down, you’re weak and clearly hallucinating. I have errands to run.”
She dropped her fingers. Nemesis reached for her, trying to still her hand, but Hera was already at the doorway. She shook her head, and Nemesis remained rooted to the spot, as always heeding every command.
“Be a good girl.”
Hera felt the tears sting the backs of her eyes at the pain crossing Nemesis’ face at her words. She turned on her heel and left. Some things she shouldn’t see. The Goddess of Vengeance, tearing up at being called “good,” was one of them.
Hours later, the twilight bathed the penthouse in golden colors. Hera closed the door behind herself and felt the silence of the apartment settle around her.
She had walked the streets of Manhattan till her feet no longer registered the pavement, till her eyes no longer noticed the surroundings. The pedestrians parted like the sea before her. Nobody troubled her. And yet…
“You’re troubled.”
Hera did not jump up, but it was a near miss. Nemesis echoed her own thoughts in ways Hera found both disturbing and exhilarating.
“You’re still here.”
